


Lovely, Dark and Deep

by theworldahead



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn, kastle - Freeform, minor offscreen character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldahead/pseuds/theworldahead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It does not start with a flower, with a father's promise, with a daughter's sacrifice. It starts, as the best stories do, with blood. </p>
<p>(A Beauty and the Beast/general fairytale AU. Liberties were taken with canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setting

_The Beast lived in the woods_ , the villagers knew that, _The Beast would kill anyone who wandered too far and too deep_ , the villagers knew that too. There were safe paths, if you skirted the edges of the thick underbrush and were tucked away inside when dusk fell, but even then someone's brother or cousin had heard of a traveler gone missing in the brightest day (smears of blood on the leaves and branches bent back with his thrashing). It was best to avoid the woods altogether, if one could.

Karen's brother had been taken by The Beast when they were on the cusp of adulthood, or so it had been told. It was certainly true that both of them had snuck out of the house, dodging chores and taking a hobo's pack of food (the pack consisted of apples, bread, cheese, and was made with their mother's second-best tablecloth) with them into the woods. It was also true that Karen had come back alone and bloodied, hysterical, missing both her mother's tablecloth and her brother. When she was calmed enough to speak and her wounds were dressed, she told of a monster with glowing-red eyes and her brother's screams. The village could not muster enough men for a hunting party or our story might have ended there; instead, it truly began in the summer of her 23rd birthday.

\-------------

Still unmarried, fair though she was, Karen's parents blamed her lack of suitors on back luck - surviving an attack by The Beast would have made her a hero as a boy, but as a girl there were whispers of unsavory things, of witchcraft. That she spent all of her time reading and none of it socializing did nothing to disprove these rumors.

It was then to little surprise, and much dismay, that Karen's mother found her bed empty one warm summer morning. The note on her pillow simply read, "I can no longer bear it, I must be rid of The Beast". Missing from the kitchen were several apples, bread, cheese, her father's flintlock pistol, and her mother's third-best tablecloth. Her parents wept, but no hunting party was forthcoming that day either. The Page household had lost both of its children to the woods, and to The Beast.


	2. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen meets The Beast

The bright overhead sun filtered down through layers and layers of leaves until it reached Karen's bare head, her cornsilk-colored hair braided loosely to one side and her hat long since shed in the heat of the day. Her skirts were carefully tied up as she picked her way through the forest where no path led, avoiding nettles and brambles as best she was able. Her legs were somewhat the worse for wear as day slowly turned into dusk, so it was with great relief that she came across a clearing under a giant oak tree. Here she spread out her light cloak and sat, making a small meal of bread and cheese before curling up against the tree's base. In the dimming light she laid her father's pistol across her lap and willed her eyes to stay open, tired though she was. The Beast would surely come for her tonight and she wanted to be ready.

_Her brother pitches backwards, screaming, blood spraying her across the face as she flinches away. The light leaves his eyes and she is falling, falling..._

She woke as if surfacing from a pool, desperate to reach the surface. Her hands reached for the pistol in her lap and it was...gone? A little more frantic now she shook out her skirts, her cloak, began to grope around in the dirt ( _it's dark, when did it get so dark?_ ) when she heard something that froze her statue-still.

The voice was human, or nearly so - a low rumbling tone that Karen felt in her throat almost before hearing it.

**"What are you doing in my woods, girl?"**

The voice seemed to come from across the clearing, and Karen focused her gaze there. It was impossible to make out anything amongst all the underbrush, but she faintly heard the noises of something moving through the ferns and the vines. Something big. She swallowed, the sound overloud to her own ears, and said nothing ( _maybe if I hold very still he will go away_ ).

**"I asked you a question, girl."**

The voice was closer this time, the rustling louder. Karen imagined she could see the outline of something moving with liquid ease through the forest on all fours. Towards her. She rekindled her efforts to find the pistol, hands sifting through dirt and leaves while keeping her eyes locked on the last spot she'd heard the voice speak. 

**"Are you looking for something?"**

Much closer now, nearly right behind her. Karen couldn't help her shriek of surprise, and she whirled around to face...nothing. She could hear laughter though, soft and low, could almost feel breath on her neck. Taking a deep breath, she spoke to the forest at large.

"I am no girl. And I came looking for you...Beast."

The last word she practically spit, though she could not seem to keep herself from shaking.

**"Oh? And since you have found me, now what? Would you have used this?"**

Something heavy landed in her lap, and she nearly cried in relief as she recognized her father's pistol. Carefully she gripped it and set her fingers against the trigger, though she left it laying across her lap.

**"You will have no need of that. I only hurt people that deserve it."**

The voice seemed to have shifted to her left, and Karen thought she sensed some small measure of humor in it. Her reply was perhaps not so wise (but she had always been a bit headstrong).

"Should I take your word for that?"

Laughter again, this time from further off. 

**"My word does not matter. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead."**

Any response to those chilling words was left lodged in Karen's throat, as she considered death at The Beast's terrible claws. After what seemed like an eternity she worked up enough courage to speak again.

"Beast...?"

But though she waited, no reply was forthcoming. Eventually the needs of her body won out, and once again Karen slept.


	3. The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She runs, He pursues

Morning light crept in through the canopy and Karen woke, stretched, and nearly knocked the pistol from her lap. Looking down at it she wondered, _Had last night all been a dream? Did I truly speak to The Beast?_ , but her questions were answered as soon as she turned to more closely examine her surroundings. There, not two inches from where she'd rested her head for the evening, were four long gashes in the great oak's bark. They were wide and deep, as though the claws that made them had lingered in the making. Karen's breath hitched in her chest, and she wasted no time in gathering her few things and leaving the clearing as soon as she was able.

Though it slowed her progress some, Karen kept the pistol out and pointed slightly in front of her as she made her way deeper into the forest. At first she'd followed what she thought were signs of The Beast, but after that failed - snapped branches tracked for an hour led to a very startled deer who nearly bowled Karen over - she simply began heading in the direction she liked best. She thought, idly, after very nearly shooting the startled deer that she did not know how long the pistol's shot would last. There would be a need to unload it soon, she suspected, lest the powder corrode the chamber. Everytime her father had taken the pistol out, she knew that he'd taken his time to empty and clean it before returning it to its' case and oh, the thought of her father, her parents ( _no we mustn't, too much taken from them already think of the forest and your feet ahead there was_ ) a branch that she ducked to avoid and focusing back on the forest she noticed...a path? The beginnings of one, perhaps, or the end. Before she'd put a foot on the path, however, she hesitated. Did she want to come across another human in the woods, even if she was armed? Anyone else this deep into the woods was either a) looking to slay The Beast ( _no not until I get to him_ ) or b) running from danger greater than The Beast, whereupon trouble would most certainly follow ( _no, best to skirt the path a little ways off, so that I may see who is upon it before I decide if I will tread it_ ). And off she went, putting bush and brush between the path so that she glimpsed it only in handfulls of space, continuing that way for quite some time.

Later, after one stop to rest and snatch a few mouthfuls of food ( _need to save food but I should have enough for a few more days, then berries and roots I suppose?_ ), she thought she saw something. A shadow of something, maybe. There and gone too quick to see, really, and it was probably her imagination. Maybe. Unsettled she took the next while more slowly, trying to minimize her noise in traveling through the forest. She managed somewhat until a stubborn blackberry wrapped itself up in her skirt and she had to spend 10 minutes picking at it to loose the vine's hold. It took every bit of her energy to not fill the air with a string of curses that would peel bark from the nearest tree, but she knew her thrashing would have attracted attention if there was any to attract. A few moments passed while she waited in silence, then let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. A shadow of nothing, then. 

As she continued on the path grew wider and more defined, deer trail turning into packed dirt lined with stones. It looked so out of place two days walk into the woods that she dared not take it, safe or no. Things that looked out of place in the forest often spoke of magic, and that was not a risk she needed to take. Not yet, at any rate. It was another half hour's careful creeping that brought her up to what seemed to be a fine cottage in a state of disrepair, ivy creeping up one side of the house and strangling the windows, front door half rotted off its hinges. There was a warm glow coming from the front room, though ( _a fireplace, or candles? something comforting_ ) and that indicated someone was in residence - living out rough in a half-ruined home, surrounded by wild animals and most importantly by The Beast. A hunter or a fugitive, whoever was responsible for the light would be no help to her and so Karen turned from the cottage and path to head into wilder woods.

Seconds later she felt, rather than heard, something in front of her. She could faintly make out a massive shape ( _the same as before, surely?_ ) and where light struggled through the foliage some glint caught the eyes of the creature in front of her ( _no, not red but a luminous yellow-green_ ). The light caught the metal of the pistol, too, and she raised it for a long second, two, three...before dropping it, and in one swift motion making a dash for the path. It was time to risk running afoul of magic or the house's occupant, and as she felt the woods clutching at her clothes and hair she heard the noise of pursuit behind her.

She burst out onto the path with a desperate increase in speed, nearly overshooting her mark before whipping back around to make a dash for the cottage and the saftey she hoped she'd find within ( _that door wouldn't hold a rabbit out, let alone The Beast, you'll never make it_ ) but she pushed that voice down and practically dove the last few feet. Wrenching the door open only to slam it closed behind her, the wide gap between door and jamb allowed a narrow view of the most peculiar thing. The Beast ( _dear god let there be nothing else in the woods like Him, built with features so human in such a wretchedly powerful animal form_ ) pulled up short as he approached the cottage, as though he could not approach it fully. He snarled and paced, lunging a few times at this unseen barrier he could not pass, before turning back and heading into the woods again. Within moments he had disappeared from Karen's view.

That was it, then. The Beast, and her cowardice, had chosen for her. Squaring up her shoulders in a display of courage she did not feel, she turned from the door and began to walk further into the cottage.

"Hello? Is someone here?"


	4. The Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food, water, and something entirely curious

Immediately to the left was some sort of sitting room or parlor, and there was indeed a fire crackling and popping in a well-appointed fireplace. The hearth looked to be made from river rocks all laid nicely together. In fact - here she glanced at the floor, as though to confirm what her feet were telling her through too-thin shoes - the floor seemed to be entirely made of such stone. It was expertly done, as she could see no mortar that fitted one stone to another, but the appearance was overall a bit strange ( _it was nice on the toes, though_ ).

The front room had several overstuffed chairs and one long, low couch in addition to a few large animal pelts placed on the floor. For a house that seemed so rough from the outside, however, Karen could not make sense of the room nor the furniture. The former was fine quality, nicer than at home by a great deal, and the latter appeared recently swept and mopped ( _try not to dwell on the thought that you are by far the dirtiest thing in this room_ ). Giving in to curiosity, and having heard no response to her hail, she stepped further towards the fireplace and gingerly placed first one foot, then the other, down on a soft pelt ( _deer, perhaps?_ ) that was spread out in front of the couch. A slight smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she simply took a moment to enjoy the fire's heat and the smell ( _rabbit stew?!_ ) that even now was turning her head. 

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

The call was a bit louder this time as she moved away from the fire, body already missing the warmth, and began to follow her nose towards that smell ( _it must be rabbit stew, and bread?_). She rounded the corner and found a large kitchen with another river rock fireplace, though this one was bigger and had several hooks hanging for pots and kettles. _One of them_ , her nose told her, _has stew. Sure of it._ And so, looking around to be doubly and triply sure she wasn't being watched, Karen tucked her hair back away from her face and began to investigate, using a nearby fireplace poker to assist. The kettle - warm water. The pot beside it - empty. The pot beside that, though... _ahh_ , the sweetest scent of rabbit and leeks. There were other notes as well, some she couldn't place, but as she stood and inhaled her mind wandered, ( _the pot was nearly full and surely whoever had made it wouldn't begrudge her just a bit?_ ) and before she had even really considered how someone might react to finding her eating their dinner, well, she'd already dished herself up a bowl. And the bread, cooling on the counter ( _she must have missed them by seconds, it was piping hot_ ), she hadn't taken that much. More to avoid the need to dirty a spoon, really.

Part of her was still rationalizing while she pulled up a chair at the small cook's table and began eating her first hot meal in days, but that small guilty voice was quieted by the simple joy of the stew's flavors ( _leeks and garlic and, hmm, thyme maybe?_ ) and the fact that she had somehow managed to find the one place in the woods that The Beast could not reach her. From here she could make better plans, having encountered the creature in brighter light and witnessed his speed and strength ( _no, don't dwell on that, don't don't dwell on that_ ). Almost unconsciously she reached for the pistol, wondering about how much powder and shot she'd brought. Lord willing it would be enough.

The last bit of bread scraped the bottom of the bowl, catching up broth and a shred of rabbit, and she sagged a bit against the table. Taking a moment to sigh contentedly, she then began to cast about for a bucket or similar to use for washing up the dish. Over by the fireplace she noticed a simple pail, and setting the pistol down on the table ( _mustn't get the powder wet_ ) she headed over to clean up. The pail was blessedly full ( _what to do for water after this is gone? there must be a well_ ), but what truly caught her attention was a strange stone pillar tucked further back against the wall. _Odd_ , she thought, and decided to investigate. The pillar was not just a pillar, though - it was, she saw as she drew closer, actually some sort of basin. The whole thing must have been carved from one giant piece of stone, some sort of slate it looked like, and as she peered over the rim she saw that there was a perfect hole right in the basin's middle. _It must run...all the way down the pillar?_ Growing increasingly bewildered Karen tipped herself over the edge to peer directly into the opening ( _which of course was totally dark, I mean what did you think you would see down there?_ ), which left her not much enlightened but slightly frustrated. So intent was she on figuring out the basin's purpose and workings, that it took her a few seconds to realize she had heard the distinct noise of a door opening and shutting somewhere further into the cottage.

Quickly, quietly, she abandoned the bowl and retrieved her father's pistol from the table. _Breathe, slow, in and out. Breathe._

"Hello? Who's here?"

Even as she called out, Karen raised the pistol to waist-height and let her thumb linger on the hammer. She could hear, she thought, footsteps - though it did not seem that they were coming any closer, rather shuffling about in some more-distant room. Keeping the pistol low she moved from the room ( _goodbye mystery basin, i'll figure you out eventually_ ) and towards the sound.


	5. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen continues snooping

The cottage - if it could actually be called one - was bigger than Karen had expected when looking from outside. As if to emphasize this point, she walked into the hall and found that the nearest door was much further away than she'd thought. Near the end of a long hall she could see a simple wood door, nearly a twin to the front door. It seemed to be in much better condition, though, not exposed to the elements as the front door was. The hall split slightly right before the unremarkable door, however, and Karen considered that might be where the sound was coming from. She could not see terribly far in front of her, as the candlelight that came from a number of stone sconces was swallowed up by dark wall tapestries, but she began walking forward cautiously with pistol at the ready.

The single door she ignored, and followed the hall's turn to the right. There were two more doors to her right, in much the same shape as the others - the nearest appeared to be made of the same slate stone that she had seen elsewhere in the house, with no visible means of opening it, and the furthest some sort of glass, perhaps? It was blue and green, quite a lovely mix of colors really, and Karen was halfway ready to open it when her eyes caught and held on the giant set of double doors that were to her left. They were cunningly carved, seeming as a mass of branches that had interwoven, and the creator had even thought to include flowers ( _paper or light enamel? they looked delicate_ ) budding from the tips in white and pink splendor. Setting aside thoughts of the cottage's other occupant for a moment, Karen reached her empty hand out to brush fingertips against the nearest blossom ( _I just want to touch it a little_ ), and almost immediately drew her hand back in horror. 

_Real, it was real. It was real and growing from the branch that was a door and oh God I was right about the magic! I can smell it, it's an apple blossom, oh God._

She drew back from the doors, two and then three steps until her back was pressed up against the cool stone of the door opposite it. _Don't turn around and run out of here. We know what's waiting outside. Breathe, slow, in and out. Breathe._

She allowed herself a few moments - to breathe, to panic, to berate herself ( _stupid, stupid! I knew it was magic, how else would The Beast be kept out but by magic?_ ) - and that thought brought her up short. That The Beast was evil was a fact that every villager knew. Must then this magic not be good, because it kept The Beast at bay? She'd read as many stories of sorcery and bewitching as she could get her hands on, and it would certainly stand to reason ( _as though reason were of any use where magic was concerned_ ). It would be no good to be frightened away by a bit of friendly magic.

With much more trepidation than before, she approached the doors again. The apple blossoms smelled heavenly, and though it may have been just her imagination she would swear that each flower turned its face toward her when she drew near. Inhaling sharply, she reached for the door handle ( _or where the damned thing would be if this wan't some sort of crazy witch apple door_ ) and once again found herself stepping back as both doors began to swing outwards, propelled by some invisible force. 

_Did those doors just read my mind?_

She did not have long to linger on that unsettling notion, however, because the sight that greeted her through the open doors stole her breath and any other thoughts she may have had. 

_I have never seen so many books in all my life._

Indeed, as she stepped through the doors ( _still creepy_ ) she could scarcely believe her eyes. The wall in front of her and the wall to her right had massive bookshelves that were tight-packed with all manner of volumes. They nearly reached the ceiling, and the whole room was illuminated not only by a veritable sea of candles but also by a skylight, a bright dome that stretched up towards the heavens just like a...tree. She stopped short. 

_There are three damn trees INSIDE THE HOUSE. Magic shit._

Indeed, there was a tree at the end and the beginning of each bookshelf ( _yew, I think?_ ), three in total. Each was stretching towards the sky as trees do, but each was also...curiously intertwined with the bookshelves. Letting out a huff of frustration ( _are we scared of trees now?_ ), Karen stepped close enough to confirm what she had originally thought; each branch that did not reach skyward, some hollow with age, stretched along the bookshelf to act as a sort of living ladder. She could see how the top shelves could be accessed by climbing up the trunk and on to a small ledge just above the highest point. The lower branches seemed to twine around, and possibly into, the other levels - she could see a tantalizing glit-edged copy of The Arabian Nights' Entertainment that would require at least one branch, perhaps two to reach, but her fingers itched to try. 

_She should not set the pistol down, though,_ and that thought that was ultimately what prevented her from launching herself two branches deep into a novel adventure. It was luck or the magic that lived in the cottage walls that had her turning just when she heard the soft tread of footsteps entering the room. She whirled around to face the person who'd come up behind her so quietly and, rattled, Karen almost shot the man on site. 

_He was not fair, no, built overmuch like a sturdy plow-horse with a sloping brow and a bulbous nose. Big, broad hands empty of weapons. Face bruised and cut, bloodied, probably recently. No sword, pistol, or dagger visible on his person. Hands out, empty, placating, he looked...like she knew him, somehow. She was, at it happens, not entirely wrong._


	6. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She meets the man behind The Beast

Pistol at the ready ( _both hands on it as her father had shown her_ ), Karen pointed it at the approaching man. He did not stop advancing, though he did slow somewhat. Giving her that same placating look, he reached his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

"M'not gonna hurt you."

His voice sounded as rough as he looked, like he hadn't spoken in days, but despite that Karen recognized the sound immediately.

_It's him. It's, he's The Beast._

Her thumb clicked the hammer of the pistol back and she gestured towards him, trying not to shake or scream or any of those things that she wouldn't be blamed for doing given who ( _or what_ ) was standing in front of her.

"Just...stay there. Don't come any closer."

He stopped moving forward once she cocked the pistol, respecting the weapon if not the wielder. Brow furrowed, he looked her over; she could not categorize all of the slight, almost aborted motions his bruised face made ( _lips twitching upwards for a half a second as though to smile, glance darting away_ ) before settling on some sort of resigned grimace.

"I guess the fancy dress don't fool you, huh?"

There may have been something beautiful about his clothes at one time - now that he'd mentioned it, Karen could see what remained of lace cuffs trailing forlornly from his sleeves. His breeches were in no better condition, and he was hardly wearing anything else ( _what had she expected? would The Beast wear a brocade waistcoat?_ ).

The thought of The Beast - or the man in front of her, for they were surely the same - deigning to be dressed up like some sort of French popinjay caused her to snort with amusement. She tried to arrange her face into a more serious expression, but biting her lips she realized it was rapidly becoming a loosing battle. 

"Ahh, see? I knew you couldn't shoot a man dressed this nicely. "

He gestured expansively, and his cuffs caught the air like an errant bit of dandelion fluff. It was...ridiculous, and Karen couldn't help but laugh this time. She did manage to cut herself off quickly, but she could feel some of tension in the room deflate ( _much like his sleeves, OH GOD SHUT UP_ ) even as she kept the pistol pointed squarely at him.

"It's Frank."

She must have looked puzzled, for he went on to elaborate.

"Me, mm, I'm Frank. The other names don't sit so well."

And just like that she was reminded of the stories, of the bodies dragged into the woods. But how to reconcile that with the man standing in front of her, who'd made a joke at his own expense? Even if ( _and i pray not_ ) he were a bloodthirsty killer who slaughtered innocents without remorse, he had twice promised to spare her life. Didn't promises mean something when magic was involved? Sternly, she gestured at him with the pistol ( _he must be growing dizzy as she lept from mood to mood_ ).

"Promise me you'll do me no harm. Promise on something important. Something sacred."

There was hardly a moment's hesitation from him.

"On my word, on my blood, on the grave of my wife and children. On my heart, I shall do you no harm."

Karen could almost feel the magic wrapping around his words as he spoke, and she took a half step towards him without even really thinking about it. He in turn took two steps forward and slowly placed his hand in front of the pistol, gently pointing it downwards and away from that organ which he had so recently sworn an oath upon.

"I hope you'll do me the same kindness, and not blow a hole in my best shirt."

He smiled a bit at the last few words, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, he did not take the pistol from Karen's hands. 

"Oh! Yes, of course."

She did not need any more urging to put the weapon away ( _and what good would it do against The Beast, anyway?_ ), and so she set it down on the ground. It was...awkward, then. There was no weapon to keep him at bay but they still stood apart some distance, as though gauging how or if at all to close the gap.

"I'msorryIateyourstew!"

It all came out as one big jumbled word, the tension from the room still not dissipated and it was a relief to watch him - The Beast, or Frank - be the one to struggle against laughter.

"Not mine, but you're welcome, welcome to it I guess. Was it, ahh, any good?"

The way his tone changed when he was simply talking to her, not swearing an oath or trying to diffuse a loaded situation, made Karen smile a bit. He had a way with words, but they seemed to jumble when he was not focused on saving his shirt ( _literally and figuratively_ ) and it made her like him more.

"Rabbit and leek, very good. Did you...not make it? Is there someone else here?"

Scrunching up his face thoughtfully, he ( _still The Beast though he appears human, do not forget_ ) scratched his short-cropped hair.

"Just us. The cottage - house or whatever - probably made it. Magic an' shit. It does all sorts of stuff it thinks I - us, I guess, want. Usually just tries to get me fed and bathed and wearing something more respectable. I've never seen..." and he waved his hands at the library, "never seen this before. It's nice."

Karen gawked at him, too bewildered for a moment to do anything but open and close her mouth before the words came.

"You've never been in this room before? How can you..? Look, there must be (she counted on her fingers) **a thousand** books or more here! There's  The Arabian Nights' Entertainment and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, I would swear I saw The Faerie Queene under one of those low branches, never had a chance to read all of that, and over there - "

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead as though following her leaps in thought was giving him a headache.

"I don't read so much. Mostly got other things to do. But you, you can take what you like. It's all yours."

She nearly hugged him, had almost bridged the space between them before she realized what she was doing and thought better of it. Her enthusiasm, though - that she could not contain.

"Thank you so much! Oh, I wonder where I'll ever find time for them all."

It was impolite to turn your back on someone, she knew that, and dangerous should that someone be the someone she was currently in the room with, but she did it anyway. Crossing to the other side of the room she stood in front of the giant bookcase and inhaled deeply, that smell of vanilla and leather that seemed to happen wherever books were all gathered together. Behind her she heard him - Frank - clear his throat slightly.

"M just gonna go to the kitchen and see about that stew? You'll be here?"

Not bothering to tear her gaze away from studying the shelf, Karen waved in his general direction - either the sign for, "Yes yes, whatever you say", or "Go away now". Something dismissive, at any rate. She heard him laugh, and turn to walk out of the room.

"Yeah, you'll be here."


	7. Interlude (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the eyes of The Beast

She was not what he hunted, though technically he had been hunting her all day.

Not to kill, though. Not to make suffer for crimes she had committed. No, she was simply...present, and in his woods, and that was enough for Frank ( _The Beast, that's what they call you and true enough too_ ). And perhaps, perhaps it could be argued that it was not strictly necessary to follow her all day and well into the night - if he wished to drive her from the woods ( _his woods_ ) he might have simple let himself be seen. One glimpse of him usually sent those unwitting wanderers running back home, but this girl carried a pistol ( _flint and powder and iron smell from her makeshift bag, it could be nothing else_ ). Perhaps she was not as innocent as he'd supposed.

No matter. She had wandered and he had followed until, obviously growing weary, she'd found shelter under a large oak tree and settled for the night ( _the pistol in her lap shows thought, but it would not be enough to stop him if he had any real desire to harm her_ ). Patiently, he waited for sleep to claim her; though she struggled against it valiantly, golden head nodding against her chest before jerking bolt-upright, she did eventually succumb. He waited until he could be certain she was no longer awake and took care to not disturb branch nor bush as he crept right up to her. 

This close he could see the soft rise-and-fall of her breath, the flutter of her eyelashes like dark moth wings against pale skin. She slept fitfully. For a long moment he simply looked, filling his eyes with the sight of her. She was...familiar? Somehow. 

_You're here for the pistol, remember? The pistol._

Shaking his head, as though that would clear the fog, he reached out and gingerly began to pull the weapon from her hands. He nearly had it when some small creature made a noise nearby - rustle, twig snap - and restless in her sleep she shifted. Grazed his wrist with her delicate fingers. 

If he had seen sparks leap from her skin to his, Frank would have been less stunned. For what seemed like minutes he held, as still as stone, barely breathing. His own hands ( _claws really, and hadn't he been careful not to touch her with them? hadn't he been good?_ ) trembled only slightly, one braced against the tree for support. He was in dire need of it. 

_I know her, I know her, I know **this**._

More confused than he should have been at such innocent contact, he finally gathered his wits enough so that he shifted, slightly, so they were no longer touching. Waited a few moments more. Waited. When he was sure she was soundly sleeping again he made careful, but quick, work of finally removing the pistol from her lap. Sitting up into a low crouch as he prepared to move away, he found bark under the nails of his braced hand. Glancing at the tree, though he did not need to confirm it, he saw that he had gouged several long furrows into the bark and the living wood itself when she'd touched his wrist. 

_Careful. He must be, must be careful. Must not get too close, claws and teeth made for tearing and rending flesh. Not for..._

And so he drew back and circled around. Woke her. Spoke with more confidence than he felt, postured, threw the pistol back into her lap. But she was brave, or had enough determination to fake courage, and she did not waver. _Let her sleep, then. I will drive away in the light, tomorrow._

He padded through the woods then, away from the clearing, but not far enough that he could not her her last, hesitant call. 

"Beast?" 

_Oh, that she would call me anything else._


	8. A Near Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen explores The Library

Karen heard the tread of his shoes ( _boots, likely_ ) as he walked away, but did not truly register it. Instead she was busy cataloging books with her eyes, leaping from spine to spine. Trying to decide which she would prefer to start reading first. It turned out that decision was made for her.

As she looked, she noticed a thick volume - huge, really - bound in graying leather, seemed to be...sliding out from the shelf. She drew closer and as she did the book moved out even further, so much so that she was obliged to grab it before it slid to the ground. She flipped the cover open to read the title page, which stated Three Books of Occult Philosophy, along with an author's information and where the book was sold. Flipping a few pages further, the first book was titled Natural Magic.

_I could...just read this, I guess? I mean, I'm in a magical house that wants me to read this so I probably should...?_

She glanced back towards the double doors, still wide-open, and thought of the man ( _man, though? or monster?_ ) who had just left. It was not wise to trust him with this knowledge, she suspected. He may or may not think kindly of magic considering his...condition. But later, later she could read it. That thought firmly lodged in her head, she slid the book back into its place on the shelf, and though she felt a bit foolish doing so she leaned in and whispered, _"I'll be back for you later."_ Neither the room nor the books themselves gave any indication that they had heard her, but she felt better all the same. 

Humming softly to herself, she bent down to remove her shoes ( _better to climb with them off_ ) and left them neatly side-by-side. Screwing a determined look onto her face, she wrapped a hand around the nearest shelf-branch that would lead her to her prize, a red-cloth bound copy of The Arabian Nights' Entertainment that she could see some few feet up. 

She began moving quite easily upwards through well-placed hand and footholds, eventually coming to where she could _nearly_ reach the book. There was some noise behind her, she was faintly aware, but all her thoughts were focused on inching out along a branch ( _surely enough to support my weight_ ) to the very edge, reaching out until just the tips of her fingers brushed against the book's spine.

_I just need a little more..._

The strain in her arm caused it to shake a bit as she took a swipe, two, three - each attempt getting her a little bit closer to pulling the book out from the shelf. It's not surprising, then, that the following events occurred in rapid succession:

1) Frank said, "What are you **doing** up there?" and

2) His voice was so close that she was startled and

3) She flinched and twisted, instinctively, and

4) She took flight - only for a moment - and

5) She was no longer flying, she was falling, and

As she scrambled for purchase at something, anything to slow her fall her hands closed around the red spine of The Arabian Nights' Entertainment which of course chose that moment to slide neatly from the shelf. Clutching it, she curled up to brace for the impact when...nothing.

Well, something.

Specifically, the something of landing on - or rather, being caught by - Frank. She had never considered herself delicate, or particularly fragile, but the breath was knocked from her as those big - terribly strong - hands kept her from dashing herself against the floor. As his luck would have it, and probably hers as well, she'd twisted in such a way that he'd caught her like an apple from a tree ( _apron stretched out, she'd often caught nuts and fruit like that when someone was shaking a tree from above - he must have been a tree shaker at one point, surely_ ). 

Karen's arms went around his neck, instinctively clinging before she really realized what she was doing. By the time that thought had a chance to process she was already holding on to him for dear life - with her free hand, anyway. 

_Like a familiar smell - that green scent that happened just after the first rain in a long dry period, like that - did she know him?_

It's possible that she flexed her hand tighter against the bare expanse of his neck, that her nails dug into him a little. He reacted as though that were the case, visibly flinching and quickly extracting himself from her grasp while setting her back down on the floor. 

"Oh! I'm sorry! That is, thank you. You startled me!"

Several reactions occurred all at once - apologetic, grateful, angry - and her mouth stumbled around a few different phrases that didn't quite go together. Frank tilted his head to one side and squinted slightly, as though he were having trouble deciding which part of her comments to respond to.

"I got it!"

_Get a grip! Don't be weird. Don't be weird._

"The book, I got the book. I'm sorry if I scratched you but thank you for catching me."

She paused for breath, not long enough for him to really respond even if he had a mind to.

"Have you ever read it? It's, ahh...not always appropriate I suppose. But I love how clever Shahrazad is, and it is always so fascinating to read of magic."

Frank smiled and shook his head, slightly, and chuckled.

"I think, yeah, that the one with the crazy king and all the stories - _Les Mille et Une Nuits, Contes Arabes_? I liked it."

Now it was Karen's turn to cock her head at Frank, as though seeing something bewildering for the first time.

"You speak French?"

A full laugh from him this time.

"Sorta. Not for a while now, but I used to be pretty good. I could probably get around a restaurant in Paris, _S'il vous plaît, ne me servent pas des escargots*_ and that."

_I never would have guessed - but that's my fault, isn't it? Judging by appearances._

Karen felt acutely embarrassed, which probably showed on her face ( _can't so much as blink without my skin getting red, UGH_ ), which in turn led her to blush harder. She bent down to retrieve her shoes, trying to give herself a moment to recover. Standing back up, she noticed that Frank had retrieved a bowl of stew and a piece of bread from wherever he'd set it down and was casting around as if looking for a place to sit. There was a set of massive chairs in one corner, all carved wood and plush fabric, and she gestured towards them with her shoes.

"We could - that is, I could read you a story? You kept me from cracking my skull against the ground, I owe you at least a story."

Frank narrowed his eyes, looking more...appraising? than confused this time. But he shrugged, nodded.

"Sure."

In a few minutes they were both seated ( _these chairs are **so** nice, I hope I don't get them too dirty_ ), her shoes back on the floor as she curled her legs under her and began to read aloud.

"In the chronicles of the ancient dynasty of the Sassanidæ, who reigned for about four hundred years..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Much to my chagrin, I could not find a video of Jon speaking French. You'll have to use your imagination.


	9. A New Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen meets the House

Karen felt time had gotten away from her, when next she looked up. She had been reading for...a while? but it didn't seem like the room should have grown so much darker. Glancing up at the skylight she could see the sunset giving way to night, the bright pinks and oranges slowly becoming blue.

Either Frank was following her reading closely, or he just noticed the prolonged silence, but she turned away from watching the heavens when he cleared his throat.

"Are you tired? There's bedrooms, and uhh, a privy. For washing up and necessaries."

On this...sensitive topic, Karen found herself blushing again - only to note with some amusement that Frank seemed a bit red in the cheeks as well.

_Well, thank God for small mercies._

"Yes, I'm getting a bit sleepy thank you."

She smiled and closed up the book, glancing down at the page to remember her place and setting it down gently on the chair. Standing up she stretched a bit and tried to stifle a yawn, then retrieved her shoes from under the chair and headed towards the doors. Frank was right beside her, and then ahead of her, walking a few paces in front and glancing back to make sure she was following. He walked out of the room and gestured to the blue-green glass door.

"Bedroom there, and the ahh, privy is the door down the hall", and he gestured towards where she'd seen the unobtrusive wooden door. He was not blushing this time, but he did mumble the words more towards the floor than her.

"I'll, uhh, see you tomorrow. G'night."

He didn't wait for a response but turned and walked back towards the kitchen, his footsteps growing quiet as he moved away.

"Goodnight to you too!"

Karen called it almost sarcastically, to his back.

_Whether he be man or monster, he has **no** manners._

Sighing, she looked over at the door to her bedroom - what he'd said was her bedroom, at any rate, though Lord only knew who it actually belonged to. Hopefully no one that would mind her sleeping in their bed. Thinking of sleeping in someone's bed gave her a moment's pause, and she bent down to sniff discretely at her dress.

_Oh God, I need a washing. Hopefully the privy will have a bucket and cloth, and I can at least get some of the dirt off before I crawl into...someone's bed._

She headed down the hall towards the wooden door, expecting to see his retreating form heading outside, or in to the front room. Instead, she found the hall empty.

_He moves fast._

Not a helpful thought, that, and she pushed it out of her mind as she reached the privy. She opened the door and was...bewildered.

The room, to start, was larger than she expected and divided into two sections by several panels of a cream-colored fabric - silk, perhaps? - that shifted and moved as though wafting in an unseen breeze. It was beautiful, but just a touch unsettling.

On the visible side of the room was a stone basin attached to a pillar, much like the one in the kitchen. There was a mirror set on the wall above it, lovely and gilded with a familiar branching motif ( _is everything in this house tree related??_ ). As in the kitchen there was a bucket of water and a rag beside it, and stepping closer she also noted what looked like a cake of soap sitting on the basin's wide rim.

_Is it for washing up? I mean, it must be, mustn't it? But where does the water go?_

Now standing in front of the basin, she picked up the cake of soap and gave it a sniff ( _honey and lavender, how wonderful!_ ), smiling at the thought of how delightful it would be to smell like that, rather than sweat and dirt. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the grand mirror and spent a few moments making faces at herself. And then...

{Hello}

The mirror fogged for a second, as though breathed on, and the word appeared. Written by an unseen hand.

Karen let out a startled noise - half shriek, half whimper - and jerked back from the wall.

{I beg your pardon, I did not mean to startle you.}

As before - fog, then the words appeared.

_Ok, so...magic mirror. To go along with magic doors and magic library and magic trees, I guess?_

Cautiously, Karen stepped closer to the mirror and, looking towards the door as if to confirm she wasn't being watched, leaned in to whisper,  
"Can you hear me?"

{I can, yes.}

"Oh! Are you, um, a person? In the mirror, I mean."

{I am not a person, I am the house.}

"...that's very...interesting. Are you alive?"

{In a manner of speaking, yes.}

"How is that? I mean, how are you alive?"

{I do not know. Do you know how you are alive?}

"Well...I know that my mother gave birth to me, which is _why_ I am alive but that is not the same as _how_ , I suppose."

{I do not understand the distinction, but I am alive. At least, I am aware.}

"That's...probably more than most houses, and probably some people, I guess?"

There was no response from the mirror, and Karen supposed that served her right for asking a rhetorical question to a sentient mirror. Might as well ask some real questions, then.

"What are the stone basins for?"

{They are for washing up.}

_I knew it!_

"I thought so, but then I couldn't see where the water went...?"

{It is diverted through the basin back into the plants that are part of my structure.}

"Oh! So it...helps water...the house?"

{In a manner of speaking, yes.}

"That is...very interesting."

{Is it?}

"I think so!"

There was no response from the mirror again ( _it's good at answering questions but not so good at conversation, I guess?_ ). Time for another real question.

"Is there anything else like the stone basin in this privy?"

{The chamber pot is very similar. As are the baths.}

"...the...baths?"

{There are two, behind the curtains. One for soaping and one for rinsing.}

Of all the absurd luxuries, this was one Karen had to see for herself. She crossed the room and drew one of the panels aside and, sure enough - two giant stone tubs, one with a basket hanging over the side which contained another cake of soap, a rag, and what looked like a sturdy hair comb. She was quite honestly beside herself, and wasted no time in running back to the mirror.

"Can you tell me where the well is? I would like very much to draw some water for a bath."

_Drawing the water for one bath would take long enough, two would certainly be excessive._

{I would be happy to fill them both with hot water, should you desire.}

"I would...yes, oh I would so love that! Thank you very much!"

{It will be a few minutes, you may attend to the rest of your toilet until then.}

And so she did, despite the strangeness of an indoor, stationary chamber pot ( _really, don't think overmuch about where the waste goes_ ). She undressed and folded her clothes and set them with her pistol neatly beside the stone basin, then walked up to the fabric curtain and pulled it back again.

She nearly cried.

The first bath was drawn, steam wafting from the water, and she could see that the second bath was very slowly filling up as well, though by what means she did not know.

_Magic, you nitwit. It's obviously magic._

Whatever it was, it was _glorious_. Karen wasted no time getting into the first bath, sinking in up to her ears with a delighted grin.

_I don't care that hot baths are supposed to be bad for your health, this is absolutely wonderful!_

Sighing contentedly, she set to that most serious task of washing up - employing all the tools the cottage had seen fit to put at her disposal (lovely soap, a wash rag, a comb,) along with a single-minded determination to no longer be the dirtiest thing in the building. Some minutes later, head soaped and dunked, hair plaited, the bath looked a little bit like a forest pool - bits of bark and plant floating on the surface ( _even some sort of flower, how did that get there?_ ), along with some less identifiable bits of debris from her journey. She wrinkled her nose at the mess, and looked over to the second bath which was sitting full and clean.

_This house will spoil me. Well, shouldn't let it go to waste..._

Carefully, so as not to slip either exiting one tub or entering the next ( _and wouldn't that be a sight, me bleeding on the floor and nothing having killed me but my own wet feet?_ ), Karen switched from washing tub to soaking tub. She noted that as she did so the first tub began to drain, but she was warm and content and couldn't bring herself to get out and examine whatever magic was being employed just right this instant.

_I'll ask the mirror, or I'll just have to take another bath. Wouldn't that be **awful**?_

She smirked at the thought, this wonderful experience being some sort of price to pay for learning more about magic, and lay her head back against the slope of the tub. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew her ears were touching the water and she jerked her head forward with a start.

_Yet another embarrassing death, drowning in a tub. Time for bed, I suspect._

Again she made careful her exit from the tub, then parted the curtain to fetch up her (regrettably dirty) clothes.

They were not there.

She blinked, and peered closer at the spot beneath the stone basin ( _I set them right there, did I not?_ ) before noticing that the mirror was once again using its' strange foggy way of communicating.

{I have taken your pistol and clothes, I apologize. The clothes were in terrible condition. I will see them cleaned and repaired before returning them. You may find a cloth to dry yourself with and a sleeping gown in the cupboard, against the far wall.}

It was enough to irk Karen that she hadn't been asked about her clothes, but... _Lord forgive me, I had no desire to put those dirty things back on._

"Thank you, house."

Indeed she found both in the cupboard, and the latter was embroidered at the high-neck and the lace cuffs with a complex and delicate tangle of green vines and leaves. It fit, somewhat unsurprisingly, as though it had been tailored just for her.

The towel she left draped over the stone basin, and with a yawn she could not contain she left the room and went back to the hallway.

It seemed less candles were burning now, or they were dimmer, so she did not linger overlong from privy to the green-blue door. The door opened easily, swinging inward, and Karen once again marveled at the luxury this seemingly-simple cottage contained.

The bed she noticed first, perhaps because she was tired or because it took up a great deal of space in the room. It was huge, 4 posts of some dark wood carved into intricate fern-leaf designs. The fabric canopy, the headboard, and the sheets were much the same color as the door ( _somewhere between green and blue, like the foam on an angry sea_ ) and looked ever-so-soft to the touch. The opposite wall from the bed was almost totally lined with what looked like one long closet with a number of doors, and the room was rounded out by a corner fireplace with seating and table for two.

It was all really, really too much.

Part of her wanted to explore, of course, go through the doors and examine everything. But that inquisitive part was loudly overruled by the demands of sleep, and so Karen did not linger in the doorway. Instead, she crossed the room and carefully crawled under the seafoam colored covers.

_Oh, they're just as soft as I imagined..._

And then she slept, and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of Karen's experiences in the tub are based on my own near-misses with getting in and out of clawfoot tubs. Delightful, but fucking treacherous.


	10. Exploring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen explores her room and makes some discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the very bad French.

_It was evening in The Garden._

_It was evening in The Garden and the sound of...children? No, birdsong._

Karen woke up with a start, the sound of a robin cheerily greeting the day somewhere outside the room. Her head felt stuffed full of cotton, dry and woolly, and she rubbed her hand blearily over her face as though she could clear away that feeling.

_I was in...a garden I think._

But in the way of so many dreams, the more Karen focused on it the further it retreated, until she was left with a vague feeling of unease but nothing to pin the feeling on.

_Ahh, well._

 

Giving up the attempt at jogging her memory, she scanned the room again - noting all the same things she had before, and then...ah-ha! One of the chairs now had a neatly folded pile of clothes, and her father's pistol sitting atop them.

In a rush, almost, she crawled out of bed and dressed in her own clothes - though they smelled of lavender, and all traces of her grand foray into the woods had been erased by careful, precise needlework. The pistol appeared the same, though she had no way of knowing if changes had been made to it as well.

_Hmm._

With that thought, that her only weapon (and probably not a particularly viable one at that) may have been compromised, Karen sat down heavily in the chair she’d just cleared.

_Would I have used it? Could I now?_

The light of morning did little to make more sense of yesterday’s events - had she really read The Beast a bedtime story? The Beast?

_His name is Frank, he said, and he swore not to hurt me and I could feel the weight of magic wrap itself around those words. It must be that he and The Beast are the same, or else that The Beast can...take someone’s voice and use it? Is that possible?_

Research was needed, it would seem. To this end Karen stood up, reluctantly (t _his chair is as comfortable as the bed, how is that possible?_ ), and set the pistol down on the chair.

_Either it’s him or it isn’t - I am sure enough that he won’t hurt me, whatever he may be._

 

Turning towards the door she hesitated; the door of the nearest wardrobe was slightly ajar. It had not been the night prior, she was fairly certain of it.

The rug underfoot was plush on her bare feet as Karen crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, and the door swung smoothly outwards. The closet interior stretched back into the shadows and she found herself stepping closer to get a better look at the contents.

_Oh._

The dress was...almost deceptively simple. A square bodice, close-fitting sleeves to the elbow, pulled in at the waist, long enough to brush the ground. It was the fabric that caught her attention, a soft-looking cream ( _silk?)_ that was heavily embroidered with pale flowers - roses opening from bud to bloom on the vine.

Almost without thinking Karen reached forward, brushing her fingers against the sleeve. It felt delicate and expensive and was certainly a finer cloth than she had ever owned. She quickly pulled her hand back; though she was squeaky clean thanks to the baths, it still felt a little strange to handle such a lovely dress.

While she was standing in such close proximity to the wardrobe, she was able to observe a small panel sliding back in the floor. Within that hidden hollow she saw a book and what looked like a pen; and again, heedless, Karen pulled book and pen from their hiding place, noting as she did so that the panel slid back into place and concealed this small hiding space.

The pen was odd, less functional and more a facsimile of a pen. It was wooden throughout, carved and turned to mimic the shape of a slender branch with a comfortable divot for holding. It felt queer in her hand, at once familiar to hold and strange to look at. The book was more practical, bound in a warm brown leather with the words **Haut-Parleur Forêt** embossed on the spine.

_Curious._

 

Unsurprisingly, as Karen began to page through the book she saw that text was written in French - though the more she turned the pages, the more it seemed that she could understand. It appeared to be two different people corresponding, and one set of handwriting seemed...very familiar indeed. 

> “Je suis très fatigué being pregnant! My feet are tellement enflé, I can hardly walk.”
> 
> “Mère envoûtante soak your feet un moment I will draw you a bath.”
> 
> “I cannot, le bébé besoin de manger.”
> 
> “Mère envoûtante, let me feed him and keep his attention. Vous reposer.”

It was a conversation between servant and master, at times plaintive on the part of the master and cajoling on the part of the servant. The handwriting that she recognized had last been seen on a foggy mirror, in the privy.

_Who was talking to the house?_

She continued to flip through the book, scanning for some kind of clue as to the owner's identity. It came on the last page, in perfectly legible and perfectly devastating English.

> "Frank is coming home today, the children and I have missed him so much. When he has rested we shall all go to market to celebrate!"

_Oh. Oh no._

 

Karen sat down on the floor, a sick curdled feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. _  
_

_His wife and children. 'On the grave of my wife and children', he swore._

The thought could hardly be borne, but she had to know their story now that she had looked into this woman's personal writings. Perhaps the house would be of some help. Feeling not a little bit absurd, but determined, she leaned down and spoke into the book.

"...house?"

Almost as soon as she'd spoken, her question appeared in the first blank page ( _and my handwriting, how does it know?!)._ A few seconds later a response was written in the book, the same handwriting tracing familiar English letters.

{Yes, hello.}

She paused a moment, two, thinking of the best way to phrase her questions.

"Can you tell me where the owner of this book is buried?"

Her question was written out quickly as before, but the answer was some time more in coming. Finally, the words came slowly like bubbles rising up to the surface of a pond.

{She is with her children in the garden.}

_The garden, the garden, I dreamt about a garden didn't I...?_

"Can you...will you show me the way to the garden?"

Another long pause, long enough that Karen felt she might have pushed too far in her questioning before her answer came.

{I will lead you to them.}

 

There was a noise, like shifting, tearing, and the second wardrobe door cracked open. Through this crack light and noise came into the room. Karen stood, still holding the book and pen, and opened the wardrobe wide.

It wasn't a wardrobe, it was a gate - Karen could see a path, and roses growing in a wild tangle across it. Somewhere, the robin was singing loudly. She took a deep, steadying breath and stepped through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE, BITCHES!!
> 
> ...really though, thank you to everyone for the kudos and thoughtful comments. Mental health is a fickle mistress, but I am going to do my best to continue updating this fic. 
> 
> Unrelated, this is the inspiration for Karen's first gown (minus the fichu) - https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/159201

**Author's Note:**

> Karen's brother dies offscreen, and there are other canon-typical instances of violence.  
> FAQ can be found [here!](http://wight-witch.tumblr.com/lovely-faq)  
> Unbeta'd, and plz leave comments if you have them!


End file.
